


Grave Mistakes

by PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Amputation, Blacksmith - Freeform, Fantasy AU, M/M, NSFW, Necromancy, Surgery, necromancer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 03:16:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14946566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess/pseuds/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess
Summary: [Fantasy AU] Dell Conagher, renowned Blacksmith is injured in a forge-based accident at his shop. Passing by at just the right time, Royal Physician and medimage Doctor Ludwig manages to save the Blacksmith's life... but not his arm. What follows is a strange and bizarre journey involving necromancy and metallurgical magic...





	Grave Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AShinyTurquoise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AShinyTurquoise/gifts).



> ~For AShinyTurquoise!~

 

 

Sleep, when it could be tempted into his bed, never quite stole the Blacksmith from the waking world. His dreams spun round and round, endlessly forming familiar patterns of inventions he had yet to create, gleaming metals flashing through the landscapes of his unconscious; all set to the incessant ringing of hammer against molten creations, a soundtrack that never ceased whether he was awake or otherwise.

Gold. Shiny, rare, reserved for the rich and those willing to die in obtaining it.  
Silver. Just the same as the last, always adorning the necks, wrists and throats of the wealthy.

Both were beautiful, true… and each required special skill to manipulate, craft, forge into something fantastical and unique. Though from a Blacksmith’s perspective, they were utterly worthless; oh, precious metals that gleamed, caught the eye and brought joy to many, certainly. However, even the staunchest admirer of finery would freely admit that a shield of gold would be impractical at best, and a sword of silver no protection at all; and all the jewels in the world could not create a breastplate impervious to a killing blow. Nor could any of them be used to forge the really important things… like ploughs for tilling the fields, or a sturdy cooking pot to feed a family of four or more on a daily basis.

And that was the thing, Dell liked to think himself a practical man who was always for pushing the boundaries when there was time, but his foremost concern was always the practical elements of life. Finding new ways to improve on old models of everyday items, tools and the like; that was who he was, a problem solver, innovator and just someone who wanted to help make the world a little less difficult for the average folk roundabout these parts. Times were usually tough, unless you were born to royalty or suddenly manifested magical powers… it wasn’t that he didn’t respect their professions, it was just that when push came to shove, those higher up the foodchain tended to find elsewhere to be. He couldn’t stand people like that.

Rolling up your sleeves and getting in there, that was how life should be. Especially when the crazy hijinks those sheltered royals and sorcerers got up to tended to have serious repercussions for those living in the towns and villages all over. The little spats became wars, battles, spells of ice or fire, flood and drought, deadly storms and plagues of dragons or other crazy horse hockey type nonsense that tended to ruin the crops.

If a child has to go to bed hungry, dirty and afraid they won’t wake up because of the people who should be doing their damndest to provide for them, ‘cause they certainly had the financial and magical means to do so… well, that just ain’t any kind of life now, is it? It’s why Dell kept his own little spark of whatever-it-was he had going, to himself; and as far as keeping confidences… he was second to none.

Exactly what was inside him, he couldn’t honestly put into words; it was an innate knowing, a doing, a making… never once had Dell failed to create exactly what he envisioned in his mind’s eye. Not to say there weren’t times when the mental concept didn’t tax his blacksmithing abilities to their limit in order to physically render the thing into being… that’s what made the whole thing worthwhile. Gotta tackle a challenge or two now and then, else you risked going soft, growing complacent and boring.

 

But sometimes, well, his particular brand of eccentric started to make the locals jumpy. Many were willing to overlook some of Dell’s more bizarre ideas and inventions because, well, everyone needed a Blacksmith at some time or other; from lords on their high horses, through to dirt-caked farmhands, there was always something that required making or mending. Still, occasionally even the forge and attached workspaces began to feel… limiting, claustrophobic almost.

It wasn’t the place, he knew that. More the small-mindedness of some of the people; it wasn’t charitable to think that way, sure, but sometimes the press of their strange superstitions and beliefs really seemed to drain the life right from him. Several of his inventions had been quietly put away because they’d upset a few too many gods-fearing folk, it was sort of ridiculous when you thought about it. Still, to keep the peace he was happy to play along.

Being neighbourly was sometimes all you had, round here. Though it didn’t hurt, either, as he often found more than a few little gifts of thanks, or friendship, floating around; Dell especially loved the piping hot loaves of bread the Baker family left at his stall whenever they thought he wasn’t looking. Bit of a game he played with those distinctively blonde kids, see… Dell would _just so happen to not be looking_ when their quiet little footsteps snuck up, and the minute he scented the bread, he’d whirl about with a loud ‘Boo!’ or another some such phrase, just to see them scamper away giggling. Brightened even the darkest of days.

 

For the most part, Dell was happy. He had a home, a workspace, a forge and all four limbs still firmly attached -unlike some of the other villagers, for whom he was always crafting sturdy crutches, hooks, or wheeled seats. The Blacksmith often wished his little spark would tell him how else to help them… but then, he wasn’t exactly a healing mage, now was he? Couldn’t magic back what’d been taken. Just be there to hand over a little something to make life more bearable.

There were a few teenagers, boys and girls in the process of growing into themselves, who rotated in and out of his shop as apprentices. See, wielding the hammer too often when you’re still growing could damage you inside and twist things about the wrong way; he’d seen it in countless dozens of other blacksmiths and their apprentices throughout the years… and Dell, well, he just wasn’t going to put anyone in a position like that. His own master, back in the day, had also had several apprentices at any one time, and made sure they rested well so no one ended up disfigured. She was a hell of a woman, that Petunia, and he couldn’t have learned the craft from anyone better…

He still missed her sometimes… at least Petunia’d gone out just how should would’ve wanted to; giving that one ornery old dragon that kept poking about the village the stomachache of a lifetime. Never was going to go to the grave quietly, the townsfolk had always joked, but then again ain’t nobody suspect a thing like that. Took a long time before he felt like taking up the forge and workshop as his own, just didn’t feel right to erase her existence straight away… but as they always would, people had needs only a blacksmith could fill and that forced his hand.

There were traces of her there, traces of the blacksmith who’d taught her, and so on and on back up the chain. He could see the little areas that his own that would last through at least the next few blacksmiths and their eventual apprentices. It was like a patchwork of history, interwoven in the small space; every lump of metal, every nail in the benches… it told you who had put it there, and when, and sometimes even why.

 

It was home.

And you know what they say about accidents…

 

~)0(~

 

Last thing that really came to mind before the searing blackness overtook Dell, was the panicked cry of one of the apprentices, the clang of something heavy, and what felt like his body being cleaved into two unequal halves. Head throbbing, body feeling distant and eyelids that felt weighted down with sandbags, he barely registered the sharp sensation of what must have been a ringing slap across his cheek. It was more like… an antbite, small but sharp, and there was a residual flooding sensation through the area.

“Come on, Herr Blacksmith, now is not the time to rest…” an oddly jovial voice cut through the fog clouding his every sense. Gave him something to latch onto, as he drifted up, up and yet up again through a thick miasma of darkness; took more effort than he first thought it might, ‘cause it seemed every inch of him was aching out there in the real world. And who in their right mind would willing go back to that?

Well, Dell was a stubborn son of a gun when he had to be… so he damn well opened his eyes and took stock of the situation.

The pain struck him immediately, and he hissed between clenched teeth, only then feeling the damp earth floor beneath him and realising his perspective was somewhat skewed. He was looking upward, which meant that whatever had happened had been bad enough to bowl him right on over. The pounding in his head only intensified as the person hovering over him moved slightly, allowing shafts of sunlight to near-blind Dell’s over sensitive eyes; damnit it all, where were his protective goggles?

He automatically went to raise his arm and blot out the light, only to convulse at the sudden burst of pain even the slightest movement seemed to cause. Nausea roiled within his stomach, burning at the back of his throat as the intensity went from severe to simply throbbing. He would have sworn, if he hadn’t caught sight of several apprentices hovering worriedly nearby. Can’t set a bad example, even when the dragon chugs the chili, gotta keep his cool.

 

“Herr Blacksmith, are you with me now?” asks the enigmatically-voiced stranger, whose features vaguely came into focus, familiar in a seen-them-in-a-crowd kind of way. Dell frowned, trying to place them, focusing on anything but his arm right now. Couldn’t recall what happened, probably didn’t want to… but the real question was, what happened now?

Oh, right. Answering.

“Uh, yeah… reckon I might be.” he responds, somewhat confused. “Have we met?”

The other laughs, and his uniform comes into focus. Ah, alright then, that made sense.  
“Oho no, not formally at least, Herr Blacksmith. I am Dr Ludwig, one of the court medimage physicians… it was a lucky thing that I was on my way to enquire as to whether you would be able to forge a new set of scalpels for me.” he chats, idly, hands automatically fiddling with bandages, bloodied tools and the like. Dell notices everyone pointed ignoring a bloodstained sheet a few feet away… and goes pale as his clever mind takes a guess at what’s underneath.

“Under normal circumstances Doc, I’d say yes… but now, I ain’t too sure. Can’t rightly remember what happened, actually, but I’m guessing at least part of me’s playing hide’n’seek under that there cloth, so it’s not too grand a situation.” Dell says, resisting the urge to shrug. He liked to speak with his whole body, always moving… this was going to be an abrupt adjustment.

The medimage raised an eyebrow, his odd little round glasses sliding down his nose as he did so, giving him comically large eyes from the perspective of his patient. “Well, from what I could shake out of the two younglings over there,” he nods at the hovering apprentices, “when the ground began to shake, you saw one of the anvils about to fall on your apprentice and shoved him out of the way. Heroic, and most likely the reason the lad is still alive, but such acts often have a cost.”

There was a pause as they both glanced at the sheet.

“You seem to have been knocked into the firepit, the uh, Forge? Striking your head, so you were not able to react when your arm overturned the…” the doctor gestured towards a melting pot that Dell recalled putting bars of iron into earlier, and the reality of it struck him. He was damn lucky to have been out to it when his hand was plunged into that mess. “Well, when I arrived, the best I could do was amputate what was left of the limb and use my medimagic to stem the bloodloss. My apologies for not saving the limb, Herr Blacksmith…”

Dell let a lazy grin fall across his face, natural inclination to put the Physician at ease. “Don’t worry about it, Doc, you still saved the other three-quarters of me, so I’d say you can chalk that up to a win, huh?” He winced as a slight shift of his position sent pain rocketing through his body again. Holy hell, it felt like his right hand was on fire, and stuffed to the brim full of pins and needles at the same-...time…

Except it couldn’t be, could it? It was all the way over there, under the sheet. Then why the hell did it feel like he could just about curl his fingers?

To be fair to the Doctor, he saved half the arm, which was more than the Blacksmith had been anticipating. He could whip up a hook prosthesis or something along those lines -or at least, the Apprentices could under his guidance- and get by just fine. Probably.

“Are you experiencing pain, mein freund?” Doctor Ludwig hums, fiddling in his surgical bag for some sort of powder. It’s green and smells like moss, Dell noticed as the medimage sprinkled it upon the bare flesh of his upper right arm and shoulder. Accompanying the action with a series of hand gestures, probably healing sigils, that seemed to luminesce for a second or two… before fading completely. “How about now?”

Dell opened his mouth to reply in the negative, but then it hit. The relief was instant, and almost overwhelming. A lesser man might have moaned aloud, but not the Blacksmith, no sir.   
He let out a shuddering sigh, blinked, and smiled at the medimage. “Feels right as rain now, Doc, thanks!”

The court physician was frowning slightly. “This is by no means healed, sir, and I would like to have you come to stay within my residence for a few days. Just to monitor your condition, and perhaps chase away those pesky phantom limb pains, ja?”

He wanted to argue, he did. The Blacksmithy was his home, his trade, his life… but you just can’t deny the part of his brain that was telling him the best option for survival was to go along with the proposed plan. A little nudge from his strange spark, you could say.

“What can I say in the face of Doctor’s orders?” he shrugged, tired and ready to get off the ground. Raising the hand that was still firmly attached to his body, Dell took that of the physician, and was helped to his feet.

The last his hand-wringing apprentices saw of him that day, was Dell leaning heavily on his far-too-cheerful medical companion, headed towards the royal quarter at a shamble.

~)0(~

After the first night, the Blacksmith learned to be rather wary about accepting late-night beverages from the medimage. Sure, it helped him sleep, but a little warning would have been nice… he didn’t take too kindly to having someone else decide when and where he was going to crash.

Still… whatever unpronounceable herbs or spells had been involved, Dell had to admit that he couldn’t recall the last time he’d woken up feeling so rested. Too bad he’d literally had to give his right arm for the chance of a good night’s sleep!   
Alright, maybe that was a tad morbid, but the Blacksmith had always found tackling the darker subjects with a sense of humour to be quite helpful. Besides, when he’d told Doc Ludwig that particular thought, over breakfast the following day, the medimage had nearly snorted oatmeal out his nose...

The startled, yet delighted, laugh had really seemed to emanate from somewhere deep within the physician; his face lighting up as he hooted his amusement. Dell found himself beaming in response, cheeks feeling a tad hot. It hadn’t been especially hilarious, but… that reaction was gratifying. He got the impression that the Doc didn’t get to laugh like this all that often; wasn’t exactly conducive to the ‘dignified image’ of those in the royal court’s employ.

Additionally, he was surprised to find the spacious household devoid of servants, and instead half-filled with various birds of bright white plumage. Doves, the Doctor had said, affectionately cooing at the ones casually sitting on the furniture he passed. Most had long, complicated names that would take the Blacksmith an age to learn… and even longer to tell each fluffy white bird apart from all the other fluffy white birds; but the medimage seemed to know each by name without so much as a second’s hesitation. He also seemed to have a particular fondness for the only dove in the whole house that seemed to have a personal grudge against Dell, though the Blacksmith had no idea exactly what he’d done to offend the puffy little bugger.

Archimedes, distinctive only by the concerningly blood-red patches coating his body, was about a hand’s-worth of wrath and pride; he damn well didn’t want Dell anywhere near his beloved Doctor, and wasn’t shy about letting the Blacksmith know. He could feel those beady black eyes on him from every angle, no matter where he stood in the quarters… watching, waiting, plotting.

That bird wanted him dead, he was damn sure of it.

The medimage nearly cried with laughter when he’d confided such thoughts to the man over dinner on the second night; and Dell momentarily forgot his confusion at where the whole day had gone, as he was again graced but such a perfect expression of delighted mirth. Could look at that forever, he’d found himself thinking, before blinking rapidly to snap out of that particular train of thought. Might have a concussion, what with the accident yesterday involving some head trauma. Yeah, that’s a good explanation. Probably some sort of brain damage, and not any kind of burgeoning affection whatsoever…

 

Simple tasks were frustrating, and uncomfortable for the most part. Anything from remembering to pick something up with the non-dominant hand he still had, through to trying to use the bathroom or pulling on a shirt, became inconvenient at best. That was to say, he felt very much like a child learning how to do basic self-care all over again; and it was downright frustrating for a grown man used to whipping up metallurgical miracles from nothing but a few nuggets of shiny ore and an idea.

At least whatever the Doc was sprinkling over the wound every few hours was stopping it from returning to the agonising throbbing from the day before. Now it was more like the persistent awareness of a papercut; uncomfortable, a tad painful under certain circumstances, but not a barrier to getting on with things. That said, his host had made it clear Dell shouldn’t be doing anything but the most necessary activities, or something like that… the words ‘bed rest’ and ‘i’ll sedate you myself if i must!’ got bandied about a bit. Dell saw that as more of a ‘suggestion’ rather than explicit doctor’s orders.

Speaking of the physician, he tended to come and go frequently, sometimes only blustering in to grab an item or coo at his birds before setting off again to see someone else. Apparently, Dell learned over various meals with the man, most of the appointments were just for show… as in, so certain members of high society could be seen to have a physician attending them, so they might act frail and gain attention. Very few were exceptionally urgent, or even medical matters. Doctor Ludwig found it more than a little frustrating, he did not study medicine and medical magics to be at the beck and call of bored socialites trying to outdo one another… and yet, such was the curse of being in the upper echelon of your field. If you stood out, intentionally or otherwise, you tended to get noticed.

 

By the fourth day however, Dell was itchy to do something. He was a physical being, worked with his hands from the moment he could walk about on his own two legs, and this sudden extended immobility was beginning to drive him up the wall. Which is probably why he suddenly started noticing things.

Nothing big, just… things. The kind that didn’t add up without at least a few backflips of logic and all. For starters, Dell was relatively suspicious enough of the Doctor’s nighttime draught that he’d started to dilute it; no more downing it in a gulp, no matter how bad it tasted. Sure it was an excellent sleep aid, and apparently that was the best thing he could do to heal but… something about it rubbed him the wrong way. The less he drank, the longer it took to work, and the more the Blacksmith realised what had been bothering him.

After the medimage assumed the sleeping draught had worked its magic, he would peer into the guest bedroom to be sure, then creep away. Dell managed to watch him through the barest slits of his eyelids on the third night, staving off the alluring sensation of sinking into slumber for a few moments more as he listened intently for movement. The rustle of a cloak, the hard clomp of sturdy boots, the clinking of vials and metallic instruments from the physician’s ever-present bag, and the gentle click of the front door’s lock being engaged as someone exits.

He never managed to remain awake for the return, but it had to be sometime shortly after, because the Doc was always wide awake and cheerful when Dell arose the next morning. He didn’t seem like someone missing big chunks of sleep each evening, and was as amicable as ever, often setting some sort of meal on the table and arguing with at least one of the birds the whole time. Dell had grown fond of the Doctor and all his birds, but especially one chubby little lad called Hephaestus; the dove had a patch of grey over one eye and loved to ride about on the Blacksmith’s shoulder. So he somewhat understood why the other man seemed to enjoy talking to, cooing at, pampering, and arguing with, his feathered swarm all the time.

The desire to ask what the heck the Doc was doing sneaking out at night was always on the tip of Dell’s tongue over breakfast, and yet, as the chaos of consuming their morning meal finally subsided into the regular routine of the medimage checking and re-bandaging the wound before leaving for his daily rounds… well, it just never seemed to come up. And that little spark, the little itch in him wanted to stay quiet about it.

 

On the fourth day, though, he was bored. Read-half-the-bookshelf kind of mind-numbingly bored.  
Thumbing through one of the various medical texts he found around the place in an effort to stop his mind from melting away out of sheer disuse, Dell suddenly found himself in the midst of a rather poignant epiphany. What he had realised, without realising, was that the house of someone so disorganised, someone who was constantly coming and going as Doctor Ludwig was… should not be this neat, well-organised and tidy.

Nor, he realised looking over the lip of the dusty tome towards the door, is it possible for a pair of mud-coated boots to not leave a single mark upon the floor, unless the medimages had started levitating since last time he checked. The Blacksmith was downright convinced that that couldn’t be the case, considering he’d never seen the Doc hovering about; and of course, the distinct footfalls of the other night.

His inquisitive side was taking stock of other things, too. Like how he’d somehow never noticed the long hooded travelling cloak by the door was reversible; the outside was bright and emblazoned with the royal house crest denoting whom he served, and the subtle embroidery beneath spoke as to his profession and rank. Yet on the inside, it appeared a voluminous dark void… one might easily wear it inside-out with none the wiser as to the real nature of the person wearing it. Things were getting a mite bit suspicious up in these parts.

Dell nearly jumps out of his skin when the front door flies open, sending doves startling into the rafters above, as the medimage bursts inside with all the subtlety of a firecracker. It takes the other a moment to recognise his patient about two inches from his face, and Doctor Ludwig blinks in surprise; then, with a blink, his face contorts into a disappointed frown.

“Herr Blacksmith, I sincerely hope you merely broke your bed rest for a brief walk to partake of the kitchen or bathroom… I would hate to have to resort to more intensive methods to ensure you recover properly from your ordeal.”

“Uh, nope, no, just stretching my legs for a minute ‘cause I thought you’d be home in a bit for lunch. Must’ve gotten the time wrong,” Dell says, making a show of frowning in slight confusion; turning his gaze to a nearby window, as if trying to check what hour was upon them.

“Never mind,” soothes the medimage, shifting to a far more compassionate tone as he instead shucks his boots and bag, before guiding Dell to the dining table. “We all make mistakes from time to time, ja? Anyway, I am somewhat early for the midday meal, my last patient decided to stop wasting my time when I showed them the actual cure to what they were pretending to have… fainted dead away. Hilarious.”

 

Gentle chatter ensued, until the meal had been served, eaten, and cleared away. Doctor Ludwig’s voice had an almost hypnotic quality to it, and Dell found he was feeling tired when the medimage suggested he go have a lie down for an hour or two. He can’t quite recall what happened after his head hit the pillow… but when his eyes once again snapped open, the Blacksmith knew exactly what to do.

 

~)0(~

 

Darkness.

The room was pitch-black. Dell wracked his groggy mind to try and work out exactly why that seemed so important to him… and then it struck, like a lightning bolt. It was nighttime.

He’d clearly missed dinner, after whatever it was that’d been slipped into lunch had taken effect; and the Doc must have felt sure Dell wouldn’t wake up before he got back. Meaning that, for now, he was alone… or not. A click sounded as the front door swung open.

“Hush little one, don’t worry… come along, come along and meet the others…” a familiar voice cajoled in a whisper, ushering someone else into the household. They sounded either elderly, or heinously injured; footsteps faltering, unhurried, almost shuffling along. “Yes, yes, this way good job… let us go downstairs now, I will introduce you, don’t be nervous!”

Dell’s eyes were wide as he silently slid out from under the covers, padding over to the door with painstaking care and silently easing it open a fraction. The medimage was striding past, a muddy trail following him across the room as he helped, what looked to be a young woman in terrible shape, meander slowly toward the kitchen. The Blacksmith startled when moonlight flashed on the guest, and he saw bone through flesh in the arm crooked through that of the Doctor; a flash of horror and revulsion shuddered through him at the thought that-...

But his gasp had caught the attention of both host and new guest. Doctor Ludwig’s head whirled to face the Blacksmith at the shocked gasp, eyes flashing worry and frustration as their gazes locked.

“Ah… scheisse…” the medimage mumbled, flinging out a hand dramatically towards the Blacksmith and intoning, “Sleep!”

 

Dell didn’t even remember hitting the ground.

 

~)0(~

 

“Who wants pancakes?” chirps the Doctor, settling a plate stacked high with the very thing, right in front of a dazed and somewhat disoriented Dell. The Blacksmith rubbed at his temples, trying to quiet the sensation of being off-kilter somehow, like he hadn’t had enough sleep.

“Thanks Doc, you don’t need to keep making us breakfast, I should help at some point…” he says, or is pretty sure those are the words that made it out past what feels like oddly rubbery lips. Had he bitten them in his sleep? Or maybe bumped his face on the bedpost last night?

“Oh dear, you don’t look well, did you not sleep well?” asks the Doctor, moving over to press his hand against Dell’s forehead and tutting. “Hmmm, no fever, but you are very pale… have you had bad dreams lately? I am afraid that is a small side effect some experience after using the sleeping draught for consecutive nights… I was rather hoping you would not be affected. Don’t worry, there are other draughts we can try instead. You really should go back to bed once you have had breakfast…”

Mind whirling, Dell agrees. “I think I might too, Doc… least ‘til the world stops spinning.”  
Pushing away from the table, breakfast all but forgotten, Dell stumbles back to the guest bedroom. The medimage watching his every move, face stricken between triumph… and guilt.

 

~)0(~

 

The Blacksmith starts awake to darkness again, hearing angry muttering as someone not-so-subtly storms about the house; the words make no sense, all foreign, but clearly angry. Dell can’t recall anything of the last day or so, just that he feels kind of sick… and, he realises in muted surprise, the Doc must have come in at some point to inspect and rebandage his arm. He felt somewhat displaced, as anyone who loses time tends to. How long had he been here? There was a phantom tingling where his right hand should be, making it hard to focus on anything else right now.

Something almost comes back as a rustling is added to the heavy clomping of boots; it’s on the tip of his mental tongue, and yet… wait, he’d been here for three… no, five days so far. Last night Doc had forgotten to dose him up, and he’d… seen something? Yes! No… Yes! He had!

Where had the-... uh, the… girl thing gone? And what had Medic done to him? Everything felt out of order, and it was doing his head in.

 _Now you listen here Me_ , he told himself, _you’re going to pull yourself together and get your ass up off this here bed. We’re going to go ask the Doctor what in tarnation he walloped us with last night, and then see about finding answers for all the other things we want to know_.

 

Dell lurches upright, left hand grappling with the bedpost to stay standing as the universe decides to tilt on a rather unusual angle for a few seconds until his dizzy thoughts manage to settle down again. He strides to the door and flings it open just in time to see the front door bang shut, and rebound, wide open again; the flick of black cloak only barely visible in the darkness outside.

Slipping on his trusty boots as quick as he could, the Blacksmith stumbles out into the night without a clue where he was heading, or a thought in his mind beyond following his odd host and getting to the bottom of all this. If the medimage noticed he was being followed, the man certainly didn’t show it; merely continuing at a brisk pace that ate up ground swiftly.

Through the town, past the inns at the outermost rims, through the overgrown wilds of the forest beyond, past a cemetery and associated temple consecrating the deceased to various gods; all the way to a strange little meadow, where the Doctor took three step, and disappeared. Surprised, but a shrewd man by nature who knew magic when he saw it, Dell followed right along behind before his nerves got ahold of him. Not exactly shocked when he reappeared on the other side of the illusion, trekking his way towards a cave embedded in a small rocky hillock.

His boots squelched, muddy ground sucking at them so harshly Dell feared they’d be pulled off, and he cursed his haste as the cause for not tying them properly. To be fair to himself, there was not much time… though at least this confirmed he was not being lead in a circle, just for the physician’s own amusement. This must be the place Doctor Ludwig stole away to at night.

...but why? That was the real question at play here. Why all the secrecy for something so insignificant as wanting to explore a rather remote cave in the middle of the night; it was certainly odd, but nothing worth drugging your guests and patients to achieve.

 

It was then he realised, they were not alone.

No one spoke to one another by name, but more and more hooded figures became apparent as they drew further in; Dell trying his best to remain out of sight by mingling with shadows whenever they passed the blazing wall-mounted torches and braziers. The cave turned in an arc and came upon a large internal cavern; just as dank and depressing as the rest of the place, yet filled with bodies.

Only two men were not swathed in various dark-coloured cloaks to conceal identities; both seemed dirty, but hale, and quite proud of themselves for some reason.  The lankier of the two strode forwards, attire and appearance so average it was easy to find your eyes sliding off him in search of something more visually appealing, but when he spoke the tone commanded your attention.

“Alright ladies, gents, others, non-humanoids and anyone else we didn’t cover in that introduction… got a real treat for you tonight. There weren’t too many sent to face the gods today, but the few that did are a bit special… so bidding might be a tad fierce.” He winks at the crowd in general, as his assistant, an equally non-descript gentleman, pulls the sheet off something stacked on a couple of bricks.

Dell’s stomach clenches when he realises it was the relatively-pristine corpse of a ruggedly handsome, yet very much deceased, muscular man. He looked to have fought something with razor-sharp fangs, and lost… sightless blue eyes gazing up through the cavern roof, even though his wounds had been painstakingly stitched shut.

“This one here? Jeremiah the Just, promised some fickle little princess he’d go ahead and slay something big’n’scaly to prove his love… yeah, you can see how that turned out, hey?” That got a muted ripple of morbid laughter from the gathering. Their host of the evening turned to point out various features of the deceased, almost like he was trying to… oh.

Took him more time than he’d like to admit to realise what was happening here, but by the time the nondescript gentleman mentions that bidding would commence at four hundred gold coins, Dell knew he definitely shouldn’t have come. This was… this was an auction, selling off the bodies of the deceased and probably their souls too, to those who practiced the dark arts… to Necromancers.

And he was staying with one.

 

Mentally swearing up a storm at his own insatiable curiosity, Dell began to back away as slowly as possible, reaching the bend before he turned to run out of the cave. Never in his life thinking any breath sweeter than the gulp of fresh air he took in whilst breaching the entrance to that roiling cesspool of evil.

His left hand clutched the front of his shirt, as he tried to steady his thoughts. Maybe he’d misunderstood? Could’ve been totally legitimate… after all, doctors and medical colleges purchased bodies all the time for apprentices to practice their skills upon, right?

Maybe he’d just… just got it wrong? Yeah, sounded plausible.

 

“Excuse me, are you alright? I know, the first time is always a little overwhelming…” came the too-cheerful, and far-too-familiar voice from behind. Dell whirls around before their outstretched hand can touch his shoulder, and the cloaked figure looks right into his face...

“Oh Scheisse…” they breath, and he starts running as fast as he can, ignoring the cries of his host to return. His pace only increased when he realised he was being chased.

 

~)0(~

 

Just as he was lamenting why his life could never be normal for once, his boots slap down upon stone and Dell realises that in his blind panic, he’d somehow made it all the way back to town. Sure, tomorrow his legs would flat out refuse to work, but hopefully while the adrenaline still surged… he could get home.

A pipe dream, to be sure… and one that shatters as an iron grip latches onto his wrist, yanking the Blacksmith off balance as his momentum is arrested without warning. He jerks, stumbles, and turns to face his captor; who surprises him by shoving them both into a nearby alley between a pair of empty businesses. Dell naturally assumed this was the end, he was going to die here… murdered in a cold dark alley for knowing things that others would prefer he didn’t, and all he could think was how that odd little auctioneer would try to sell his corpse to the assembled dark magic users.

“Ah scheisse…” the Doctor repeated, grip softening as he crowded the Blacksmith in against the wall. “You’re shivering, Herr Blacksmith, the night is cold and you should not have exerted yourself so harshly… it will be a minor miracle if you do not contract cold after this.” He sighs, “So you know… where it is I slip away to at night. What do you think you might do with such information, hmmm?”

Dell started to get really confused when Medic began to sink down to his knees, hands fumbling at the Blacksmith’s belt. “I suppose there is only one thing for it… perhaps we can come to an,” the medimage pauses to lewdly stroke the burgeoning bulge in Dell’s underclothes, “arrangement of some sort?”

Shivering at the cold night air, and the strange juxtaposition of the Doctor’s warm breath ghosting over his inflating erection, the Blacksmith fought to find the right words to get out of the situation. He gasps, perhaps more wantonly than he would have liked, when those skilled fingers delve into his undergarments and pull his thick, heavy cock free.

“Mmm, impressive… but not unsurprising, Herr Blacksmith.” The physician says smugly, looking Dell directly in the eyes as the man’s cock smears a trail of precum across that perfect pale cheek. The sensation is… undescribable. However, this ain’t right, no way no how.

Dell pushes the Doctor’s shoulder slightly, not wanting to overbalance the man whilst giving a message. “While I appreciate the offer, and not, y’know, being murdered and all… this isn’t what I’m looking for. Not like this, at any rate. Rather not have it be some sort of trade-off for me keeping my mouth shut…”

 

Rising slowly, the Doctor wipes at his cheek, expression quizzical. There’s a heartbeat as he seems to process the statement, then all of a sudden the medimage is slowly moving into Dell’s personal space bubble. Their hips snap together like two magnets, the physician carefully rocking up into the other as he slowly tested his hypothesis and kissed the Blacksmith.

It was chaste, exploratory, and giddy; at least for Dell. When they broke apart he smiled, huffed a small laugh and said, “Now you’re getting it… but, only if you’re not doing it to keep me quiet, mind. All or nothing, I’m a stubborn old coot when it comes to this whole infatuation thing…”

 

“Of course, Herr Blacksmi-... Dell. You are a very hard man to live with, because you man me a very hard man quite often…” Doctor Ludwig whispers naughtily, and the Blacksmith finds himself laughing at the ridiculous confession. He gasps when the physician rocks their hips together again, trapping his aching length between them, and letting him know just how committed the medimage was to the situation. “Now would you mind if we dealt with more pressing matters, or shall we try to move home under the circumstances and discuss it all in the morning?”

Snaking his left arm around the physician’s shoulders, Dell kissed the man roughly, and slipped his fingers into that soft, silky black hair as the dark cloak billowed to the ground. “I’m thinking neither of us are gonna get very far unless we come up with some sort of joint solution…” he teases, crashing their mouths back together as the Doctor frees himself, and the sensation of skin on skin sends a shiver through both of them.

“Fuck…” Dell pants, feeling heat flood through his body as the medimage strokes them both with an oddly-lubricated hand; he barely registers the sound of a bottle clattering to the tiles as Doctor Ludwig stills his hand and begins to rut frantically against Dell’s own throbbing need. His fingers clench at the sensation, and his hips jerk slightly out of sync, creating a delicious sliding friction that seemed to set his every nerve ending on fire. He tries to warn the other, as his cock strains for every slick second of sensation and his balls tighten almost painfully.

“Doc, it’s been… awhile… think I’m g-... gonna...ah!” he chokes off as the physician squeezes a little harder in acknowledgement. He almost loses control of his hips as he thrusts furiously into that tight space, feeling the medimage increasing his pace in a desperate bid to come as well. Dell hides the shrill cry of his orgasm in the Doctor’s throat, as his teeth clamp down of their own volition; his come coating their abdomens as he continues to jerkily rut against the other.

Gasping out something in a language he didn’t quite grasp, Dell watches through his haze as the Doctor arches into his orgasm, mouth open wide in a silent cry, the thick white liquid releasing in frantic spurts that ruined their clothing almost beyond repair. The Blacksmith kept moving his hips against the other until his legs trembled violently from overstimulation; wanting to preserve that look of pure pleasure on the medimage’s face for every second he could.

 

Panting, the men pressed back against the wall, shuddering and cold in the afterglow. One of them laughed softly, and the other joined in; both carefully tucking themselves away and eventually drawing the large black cloak about themselves so they might steal away home, unnoticed.

Exhausted, the pair managed to stumble in, shut the front door and stumble to the closest bedroom. Finally sinking to sleep in a tangle of limbs, all questions saved up for the morning light to illuminate the truth.

 

~)0(~

All pretense was cast aside in the morning, as one might expect given the dramatic revelation of the night before. Doctor Ludwig gave up the illusion that he had been making breakfast each morning, and instead simply introduced the Blacksmith to the wide array of undead servants he had living in a secretive dormitory below the house.

 

Normally they all rotated through the chores list, so no one got too bored; usually throughout the day whilst the medimage was out on his rounds. However, as they’d had a guest, Doctor Ludwig had always made sure the sleeping draught had taken effect well before he would signal to his housekeepers that they could set things to right. All sneaking back to their underground room before he got up of a morning.

 

Seeing Dell frown, the physician had been quick to point out that they were under no contract to stay with him; after all, he wasn’t like some necromancers, who felt it their right to use those they raised as unwitting slaves and potion components. No, they were merely… the ones he could take in at the time. Some of them he had known whilst alive, others he had gotten to know after taking them into his employ.

 

“You see,” he tried to explain to Dell, “sometimes when you die, the spirit remains attached to the corpse. It might be trapped there, unable to move on but still paying attention; the auctioneers have a rare gift of divining those who fall under this category, and seek out the freshly deceased. It is why necromancers want them… you know the old saying, ‘the flesh is willing’? Well, for most, the fact the spirit is weak, is what they are after. Souls are quite a difficult item to procure in most realms of magic, not to mention… I know a few in the magical community who really get off to the idea of having power over undead slaves. No accounting for taste with some strange people.”

 

Dell only just refrained from pointing out the man was saying that with at least three birds perched on his head.

 

“When I can, I get at least one every few auctions, resurrect them there and bring them home. Quite simple, a parlour trick really. The others help them acclimate, everyone gets along, and every so often one of them manages to resolve whatever earthly matter tethers their soul here… which is when they are ‘set free’.” Doctor Ludwig waved a hand at the young woman that had shocked Dell the other night. “You caught me sneaking little Violet in the other night, my apologies for the hastily cast sleep spell… if you don’t take the time to do it right, the patient has temporary difficulty with short term memory, strong nausea, confusion, loss of sensation, coordination and numbness. Which is why I prefer to use a light sedation spell in conjunction with a carefully brewed draught, so I know exactly how things may progress.”

 

“I came out fine in the end, so it doesn’t matter too much. And miss, I’m sorry for reacting like that, thought I was losing my mind for a minute there…” he apologises at the young undead woman. Her skin has the pallor of death, but her eyes are alive as she nods in acceptance. Apparently it takes a few weeks to gain back power of speech after being resurrected; same as movement. They became pretty human-like, if given the time to readjust; didn’t need much more than a few bites of red meat every so often, and had some interesting stories from when they were alive. Not to mention, the birds seemed to love them. Which was weird.

 

Weirder still, Archimedes had been sitting on Dell’s good shoulder alongside Hephaestus since they sat down at the breakfast table. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but so far the dove hadn’t gone for his eyes, so he was just going to assume there was some sort of truce in the works. It was the first time in his life he wished he’d been born with the gift of Air Magic, so he could have a right good chat with the puffy little balls of feathers.

  


“Of course,” the Doctor said, swirling is tea. “If you needed a fresh corpse, there are… other auctions you can attend. Certainly more legal ones… there’s always an apprentice that needs to work on their stitching or scalpel techniques and such. I only mention this because I’ve noticed you seem to have an interest in anatomy, judging by how many of my books you’ve read through in the past week, hmmm?”

 

“Heh, ah… yeah, I might do. Maybe not for the same reasons you’re thinking. Not that being a medimage ain’t a great career, but I was born to hammer things out of molten metal… and besides, the Forge is where I seem to get all my best ideas.” Dell shrugs.

 

“Oh? So you were merely reading them to, what? Sate your own curiosity? Learn the right locations for a man to pleasure another?” he pauses, watching Dell flush at the very insinuation, before leaning forwards to strike the nail on the head. “Or do you have an idea about how to fix your little… handicap?”

 

Dell grins broadly, “I might have more than just an idea, Doc. The only problem is I don’t have quite the right level of medical know-how to pull it off. Gotta know how the components fit together before you make something, or else all it’ll be is a well-crafted dud…”

 

“Is that so? Well, I think the first step… is going shopping for a corpse.” the medimage said, pushing up out of his seat and heading for the door. “Now come along, I think I left one behind a bar the other night!”

  


Not entirely sure if he was kidding, the Blacksmith followed behind with a degree of excitement flooding his chest. Though whether it was the prospect of hunting down a body, the chance to put his plan into action… or simply the fact that when he took the Doc’s hand in his own, it was warmly clasped… who can say?

 

~)0(~

 

“...and as you’ll see when I tug this tendon, it moves the primary digit on the hand. However, as you will see, this could not be possible without the existence of both the musculature, here and here, the cartilage acting as an effective barrier, and each of these miniscule bones.” Doctor Ludwig intoned, his scalpel pointing to each mentioned item, as he carefully peeled off the epidermal layer of the corpse’s right hand. Even with magical light orbs illuminating the procedure, the darkness of night still made things rather more difficult than necessary; but as the medimage was busy throughout the day, all that was left was to study when the moon governed the world.

 

Dell sketched furiously, drinking in the information and writing short-hand notes about the biological and mechanical functionality that was inherent for basic functioning of a hand and forearm. Not noticing the look of adoration and pride the medimage wore as he saw the man he was falling hard for, dedicatedly hanging off his every word. Delighted to share his craft with someone who could understand.

 

Things would progress more rapidly from here on out…

 

~)0(~

 

Returning to the Blacksmithy was a startling sort of homecoming, as he encountered one of his distant cousins in the trade, Cinnamona, who had slipped in to tide the village over until Dell was well enough. She was helping the apprentices to fulfil orders, making and patching, mending and breaking… all like clockwork, just how he liked it.

 

He had asked her to stay a while longer, he was working on something… a ‘funny feeling something’, that she took to mean the odd little familial forge-based tingle had given him a big idea. Happened to her sometimes too, to the whole blacksmithing Conagher clan, at one time or another. In light of that shared understanding, she agreed to stay on; her own apprentices were experienced enough to run her shop ‘til she could get back down south to them. It was all going to work out fine.

  


Relieved, but on a mission, he started to smelt various metals together in unusual ways, adding little bits of funny coloured potions and the like as he went through. Anxiously hovering over apprentices as he instructed them in shaping it… until Cinnamona had just plum had enough watching those teenagers sweat out the eyeballs from nerves, and took over.

As each piece shaped itself under their eyes, she started to see where this was going. Probably wouldn’t work, but hey… if it made him feel better, she’d make a hundred, maybe one that could even wipe your rear and play a jaunty tune at the same time.

 

Dell left in a hurry after the pieces had been forged, cooled and allowed to settle for a time. He could feel his cousin’s lack of belief in the project, and the apprentice’s confusion about what exactly this would result in… but the Blacksmith held firm. This was going to work, he could feel it.

 

~)0(~

 

It wasn’t going to work, he realised with a pang of despondent despair ringing through his heart.

 

With the help of some of the more dexterous undead lodgers, Dell had carefully pieced together the carefully forged metal bits; slotting them almost impossibly together with a precision and plan that defied logic. Periodically, he checked with the good Doctor, who was providing his medical opinion on the anatomical accuracy of the device and various mechanics within. Deftly taking the external pieces away to carve specific designs and runes upon each surface, into which the smelted potions seemed to seep and glow in varying colours depending on how long you stared.

 

And yet, for all of that work, he couldn’t seem to get any of the tests to function correctly. Little jolts of magic could not convince it to move; nor even trapped lightning from a nearby storm mage’s stall. Prayers and curses seemed to do nothing more than annoy the deities that heard them…

 

The frustration was almost a far greater torture than losing the damn limb had been.

 

“Perhaps the solution is simpler than we all suspect,” Ludwig had suggested, hand on Dell’s good shoulder in support. “Maybe we merely need to attach it properly and allow both tissue regeneration and a little healing magic to do what it will to make it move.”

 

“You might be right, Doc…” he sighed, staring sadly at the carefully sculpted and yet potentially useless, prosthesis. Dark metal contrasting against the glowing magical lines pulsing through the various patterns, runes and channels on every surface. “But what if it still doesn’t work then? I mean, it’d be far worse to have a dead lump hanging off the end of my arm just for the sake of symmetry… than one functioning arm.”

 

The medimage rubs a soothing circle into the Blacksmith’s shoulder. “Oh don’t worry, I’m sure it will; after all your hard work, it must, meine liebling. Now, finish your wine…”

 

~)0(~

 

By the time he surfaced from the murky depths of unconsciousness, the time of ‘What Ifs’ had well and truly passed them by. His arm burned like it was on fire, and he thinks he was screaming… but it all sort of faded out again as a voice told him to fall back to sleep, and that they were so, so very sorry.

 

Dell opened his eyes to the grim expression of his… well, at this point they had to at least be lovers. His right arm ached from shoulder to fingertips, but it was bearable enough for now.   
The relief on the medimage’s face was palpable, as Dell turned to ask, “Did it work?”

  


He saw in the way their mouth tightened, how delight faded to sympathy in a heartbeat… that the answer was not the one he had hoped for so vigorously. “Meine liebling… I… I am so sorry, it did not work, after it was attached all it did was cause you pain. Even asleep you screamed as your body tried to reject it…” Doctor Ludwig paused, took a deep breath, and continued. “But, then I had an idea… and you have my apologies that I could not risk waking you to ask your permission.”

 

Frowning, Dell wriggled his fingers. “Doc… I dunno what you did but, I can feel my hand… so whatever you did, it sounds like the right call.”

 

“But it was not the solution you had hoped for. The metal arm is so complex and wonderfully made, but the human body is too weak to accept something like that in place of flesh, normally… but as you were telling me about phantom limb pains, and you may recall I am a necromancer…” the other paused, allowing Dell to catch up.

 

“You somehow bound my phantom limb to the prosthesis and my body accepted it?” he asked, realisation slowly dawning. When Doctor Ludwig nodded, Dell’s expression lit up like the sun appearing from behind clouds. “Then stop beating yourself up, Doc, that’s the best damn thing I’ve ever heard… it’s amazing. No, you are… never would have thought of that solution myself! Do you think we could do this type of thing for others, or was it a one-shot thing?”

 

His medimage had gone from brooding and pensive to instantly excited as he mused on the possibilities. “Yes, yes I do believe so… as long as they have some degree of phantom limb sensation it should work. As it turned out, when I was binding the spirit to the metallic flesh, so to speak… I realised that a phantom limb is simply the spirit holding its normal place, despite the flesh being gone. So naturally…”

 

“So naturally you just solved a huge problem in the lives of people who’ve lost limbs from all the crazy crap that happens around here and in the wars. That’s what you did you gorgeous bastard! The minute I learn how to use this thing, I’m gonna give you the handjob of a lifetime…” Dell beamed, emphatic and delighting in watching his medimage’s eye shoot open wide in surprise, and not a small amount of lust at the concept.

 

“I would settle for more immediate payment,” Doctor Ludwig purred, leaning in over his patient and kissing him, only to jerk away before anything deepened. “One kiss, and you actually listening to me for once when I tell you to remain on bedrest this time…”

 

Dell rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically, mumbling darkly about ‘Doctor’s Orders’.

  


~)0(~

 

“How’s it feeling now, hun?” Dell asked the little girl as she took her first tentative steps on the new metallic leg he’d cast for her. Her lovely brown eyes were bright with excitement as her swaying gait balanced out, and she started to skip.

 

“It’s just like my old leg!” she crows, excited, as her parents burst into tears behind her. She’s only about ten, so Dell is already calculating when she’ll need to come back to have an extender put  in, so the metal can grow with her… but she’s already rocketing over to squeeze him about the middle. “Thank you Mr Blacksmith! I love my new leg!” She peers behind him and scoots around Dell to repeat the hug on her other hero. “Thank you Mr Blacksmith's Husband-Doctor!”

 

Ludwig pats her on the head, “All in a day’s work, little one… enjoy your leg, and come back if anything feels a little funny or you’re worried.” he assures.

  


“What do we owe you?” the mother asks, hands trembling around a small bag of what must be their only savings. Dell waves it away swiftly.

 

“You don’t owe me anything, ma’am. Just seeing her, and all the others we can help out, enjoying their new limbs is more than enough for us… remember to come back when she starts shooting up like a sapling, and we’ll fix it right up.” he smiles, accepts a firm hug from each of them, and then they are walking away with their daughter between them.

She swings back and forth, holding onto their hands and chattering as if nothing has happened; and they couldn’t be happier for it.

 

“I was rather worried about her, real young to have lost a limb much less go through putting one back on. Suppose that’s why you used every potion, potive and spell you could think of to keep her under ‘til you were dead sure it’d healed right, hmmm Mr Blacksmith’s Husband-Doctor?” Dell teases, knowing Ludwig has a soft spot for children. He rests back against the other man, feeling a chin nestle atop his head as the good doctor wraps around his husband.

 

“You’re never letting that go, are you?” the medimage sighs, as the Blacksmith intertwines mechanical fingers with his own, in a gesture of quiet affection. He pressed a kiss to Dell’s throat, and feels the laugh it elicits rumble between them. “Well, Mr Blacksmith, I hate to bring this up here and now… but, I do believe certain things involving your newly acquired metal hand were promised…”

 

Dell snorts, “You’re incorrigible, you know that right?” but he’s grinning, because the two sappy old fools love one another. “Alright, I’m sure that between the apprentices, my cousin and your undead roommates, there’s at least someone capable of holding down the fort for an hour…”

 

“Only an hour?” Doctor Ludwig teases.

 

“Alright, make it two…” Dell concedes. “Well, Mr Blacksmith’s Doctor-Husband… what are you waiting for? Sounds like you need to make a housecall…”

 

“You’re just lucky I bulk bill, meine liebe…” the medimage retorts, kisses his husband on the lips and follows his lead as they wind their way back towards their house. Content, and ready for a little flash of excitement in their busy, busy lives…

 

 


End file.
